


Humble Passion

by dadmilkman



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 10:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6076665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dadmilkman/pseuds/dadmilkman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It doesn’t matter,” Fenris said. He didn’t know if he was speaking to Hawke, or to himself. “She is dead. Whether I regret how it happened or not, I am freed of her.” </p><p>Hawke took a step forward, reaching out as if to touch Fenris’ arm, but stopped before he could continue. He shook his head. “This hate is eating you up. It’s consuming you. Even now that Hadriana is dead, it's clear that you don’t feel any better about it. I know you are trying to move on from your past, but you cannot when you cling to it like this. She may be gone, but you are not free from her.”</p><p>My version of a more in-depth conversation after returning from killing Hadriana.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Humble Passion

**Author's Note:**

> This was almost a third chapter in another FenHawke thing I had written but I decided against it. 
> 
> Also there's like one paragraph where Bethany is mentioned - in most of my stories, Bethany escapes Lothering with Hawke even is he is a mage, so Fenris knew Bethany before she died in the Deep Roads. Just to clarify.

Fenris waited in the foyer of the Hawke estate, feeling out of place. Granted, he always felt out of place. But especially here, and especially now, he felt foreign. 

The house was quiet. Bodahn had greeted him at the door, informing him that “Messere Hawke” was out at the moment but “Master Fenris” was welcome to wait for his return. Fenris held his tongue at the term, despising being anyone’s master, even if only in title. Hawke’s hound was also not here; he must have taken him along on an errand. Even Hawke’s mother was absent. The house was so agonizingly quiet. 

Fenris sat pondering what he would say when Hawke returned. It had been four days since he’d stormed out of the old holding caves, skittering off into the woods like a coward. Immediately after the words left his mouth, Fenris had regretted what he’d said against mages in Hawke’s company. It wasn’t true, what he’d said. No, that wasn’t correct, or why would he have said it at all? But he had been speaking out of anger, a thought he’d had many times before although not one he’d had in a long while. But how was Hawke to know that? Fenris was hard pressed to ever let go of his hatred towards mages, but with Hawke… he didn’t think of him as a mage. And that was the problem, was it not? Hawke was a man. But as important was the fact that he was a mage. To confront him and deny him this, for Fenris to say that he didn’t consider him a mage? It would be equal for Hawke to say he didn’t consider Fenris an elf. Insulting, to say the least. Being denied a large part of one’s identity. 

But if he were honest, Fenris was afraid. Mages were… terrifying. A force of power always lingering over his head. First in Tevinter, where a mage had been his  _ master _ . And now in Kirkwall. Where mages run amok in the streets, apostates slinging spells about to bend demons to their whims, attempting to take what little foothold against the templars that they could. This was exactly how tevinter had started. 

Fenris scoffed, wondering why this issue was so persistent. He thought he had settled this matter with himself, and yet time and time again, circumstances back brought this argument. Mages are evil. No, that’s not true, there’s mages like Hawke. But not all mages are like Hawke. Some mages are like the abomination, flinging themselves at the behest of spirits with no hesitation. Others were like the accursed blood mage, toiling about with demons like they were friends. Disgusting. But then there was Bethany. A sweet girl who wanted nothing but peace for the world, but taken from it much too soon. And Hawke, whose spirit was pure and just, even if he was too foolhardy for his own good. No, they couldn't be the only two forces of good magic in the world. Of course not. And yet even as he tried and tried to convince himself, Fenris couldn’t force the belief of the words he wanted to know were true. 

Mages could not be trusted. That much could be said, at least. But then again, no one could be trusted. Fenris had seen plenty of non-mages turn their backs on their comrades, or sell others into slavery, or fight for causes that were unjust. But mages clearly had an advantage against others. Magic was a powerful force, no matter the argument for its use. Fenris was right in thinking so. Had he not with his own eyes see Hawke strike down wave after wave of enemies just by raising his arms to the sky? Had he not seen Hawke unleash storms from his palms, or made lightning leap through the field, or fire dance across his fingertips? Hawke was a fearsome man. But, if only because of his abilities. The same could be said of any other powerful adversary. The Knight commander, or the Gray Wardens, or the Arishok - or even Fenris himself. He thought perhaps he should put more trust in his own abilities. Did Hawke perhaps share the same fear? Did Hawke fear him? 

He shook his head at the ridiculousness of such a thought. Hawke was afraid of no one. But this wasn’t exactly what he had been trying to put into words. Even if he really did believe what he had said to Hawke, he wanted to apologize for …what, exactly? He could hear the hollow apology in his head. Sorry I said those things, Hawke. I meant them, but sorry you heard me say it. 

How pitiful.  

Fenris scolded himself for his uncertainty. This didn’t have to be some elaborate display, all he wanted to do was apologize for leaving how he did. He always ran when he was unsure, and he was so unsure of himself now he considered bolting out the door before Hawke returned. Or maybe the window instead, so he didn’t stumble across him in the Chantry courtyard.

Fenris willed himself to stay in place. He needed to do this, he needed to apologize. If this wasn’t for Hawke, then this was for himself. He needed to prove that he could do more than just run away. Although up until this point he had been doing just that. 

Before Fenris had another chance to gather his thoughts, Hawke came striding through the door. He faltered to a stop once he saw Fenris against the wall. Still standing in the doorway mid-step, with one foot on the threshold and one outside, he spoke. 

“You’re here,” he said. Hawke’s eyes seemed to light up, just the smallest amount. Fenris cursed himself for feeling sorry for the man. He was under no obligation to return at all, let alone apologize for being gone. Why did he feel guilty for leaving his side? 

“That I am,” Fenris said. “I would like to speak with you.” 

One hand tightened on the knob of the door, but he didn’t move. “Of course.”

Fenris waited for Hawke to continue inside so they could perhaps not have a conversation standing in the foyer. But Hawke seemed oblivious to his position and stood waiting for Fenris to speak.

“Are you going to enter?” He asked. Fenris crossed his arms as he realized this isn’t what he meant to say. Maker take him, now he was inviting the man into his own house. This was not going well. But Hawke seemed to finally realize he was still standing half outside, and closed the door behind him. He was still wearing his armor, blood smeared on his gauntlets and arms. He folded his hands in front of him and spoke again. 

“You've been gone a while,” he said. “I knew you-... At least, I hoped you would come back.” He tilted his head to the side. “I was… concerned.” 

Fenris crossed his arms, trying to remain collected. Why would he be concerned? As if Fenris had never left for days at a time without warning to later return, unannounced. As if he couldn’t take care of himself. And the man had almost said that he  _ knew  _ Fenris would return. Was he becoming predictable? What matter was it to Hawke where he had gone? 

“I needed to be alone,” he said. His voice was angrier than he realized. He had meant that he needed to be alone with his thoughts, but felt that Hawke took it more like Fenris needed to be away from him. He cursed himself again. He tried to be more careful with his words. 

“When I was still a slave, Hadriana was often worse to me than Danarius had been. She… left me with memories I still do not wish to speak of. But because of her position under Denarius I was powerless to respond to her torment.” Fenris closed his eyes and scoffed, angry with himself for how this was going. Not just the conversation, although that was going badly. But also everything else surrounding the events in general. The way he had handled his anger at the time. The way he had left things with Hawke,. The way he had so quickly wished death upon the only mage who had so far proven himself different from what Fenris knew. Why was it so hard to let go of the past? 

“She had always been just out of my reach, carefully avoiding Denarius’ suspicions. Every time I thought perhaps she would be found guilty of her crimes, she would play the part of the ‘poor abused apprentice’. Denarius would instead have me punished for accusing her of things that she would  _ never   _ do. How dare a lowly slave speak against his masters? The both of them always knew what really happened. I am sure they did. I’m certain they took pleasure in looking me in the eyes and telling me I was mad, and that punishing my lies was for my own good. The thought of her escaping yet again was unbearable. I would not let her slip out of my reach again. I wanted to, but I couldn't.”

“You wanted to let her go?” Hawke asked in surprise. 

“Don’t misunderstand. I did not want to release her. What I wanted was to finally be free of her presence, always lurking behind my back. I thought that perhaps after all these years I would have gotten over what she did to me. But seeing her again in the flesh, healthy and vital and as powerful as ever... it renewed my anger, and I lost control. I apologize for my actions.” 

Hawke scrunched his brow in worry. “It’s understandable,” he said. “Don’t feel like you have to apologize for it. I can... only imagine what she's done, but it’s not your fault for wanting revenge.”

Fenris looked away, angered by the way Hawke seemed to look at him with such pitying eyes. This was not what he wanted, either. He did not need people’s pity, he needed them to understand. Why was that so hard a concept? He was not made of glass, the things that happened in the past had not broken him, not completely. And he did not need others looking at him like this… like a sad, caged animal.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. Fenris didn’t know if he was responding to Hawke, or to himself. “She is dead. Whether I regret how it happened or not, I am free from her.” 

Hawke took a step forward, reaching out as if to touch Fenris’ arm, but stopped before he could continue. He shook his head. “This hate is eating you up. It’s consuming you. Even now that Hadriana is dead, it's clear that you don’t feel any better about it. I know you are trying to move on from your past, but you cannot when you cling to it like this. She may be gone, but you are not free from her.”

Hawke was right, and Fenris knew it, but who was he to speak out like this? To presume so much when he knew so little?

“You know nothing of being a slave!” He said. He took a step back, out of Hawke’s reach. His arms fell to his sides and his hands balled into fists. “It’s a sickness, a maddening anger that grows inside me that I can’t ever get rid of. And  _ they  _ put it there! Do not pretend to understand what you have not suffered.”

“No, I don't want to pretend to understand,” Hawke said, stepping forward to follow Fenris’ retreat across the room. “If you would not try to do this all alone, I could help - ”

“Help me?” Fenris cried. He knew he was yelling but he couldn’t quiet his voice. “Is that what I am to you? Another work of charity? Just a poor slave who you think desires your pity? Shall I wear a sign asking for assistance with my problems, since I cannot do anything myself?”

That was a low blow. Fenris regretted the words as soon as he’d said them, but it was too late now. Why did he always speak too fast? And now Hawke was looking at the ground like a chastised child. He remained silent as Fenris shifted from one foot to the other. 

“ _ Fasta vass. _ This is not why I came here.” 

No, he had come here to apologize, and now they had started an argument that Fenris never wanted to have. He wasn’t ready to talk about this, not with anyone, and not even with Hawke. Fenris kept his eyes away from Hawke’s face as he shouldered past him towards the door. How typical it was that he was running away again. If he couldn’t do this now, when would he ever be ready? 

“Please, don’t leave,” he heard Hawke say, and Fenris was about to retort when he felt a hand on his wrist. For a blinding moment his fear and anger drove out every other alternative, his instincts kicking in as his markings glowed to life in the dark room. He wrenched his arm from the grasp and spun on his heel, hands clamping down on the assailant's arms and pinning them against the wall. He spoke through bared teeth and his voice was a snarl. 

“ _ Do not touch me _ .”

If Fenris didn’t control himself this man had seconds left to live. But no, this was just Hawke, wasn’t it? It wasn’t an attack, it was just Hawke, just foolish Hawke. Trying and failing to be comforting for all the right reasons but in all the wrong ways. How could Fenris be so stupid? He was so consumed by rage he almost killed the man who was trying harder than anyone else to understand. 

Fenris suppressed his markings and took a quick step back. His face was hot with anger and he felt his hands shake. It would have been so easy to crush this man’s arms or rip the heart from his chest. And Hawke did not even try to defend himself, just stood and left his fate to Fenris’ unstable will. Fenris turned away from Hawke, unable to look him in the eyes. Shame and fear and anger all rose in his chest like breath held for too long trying to escape from sealed lips. As much as he knew the blame was his own, Fenris cursed Hawke for making this so difficult. If only Hawke didn’t care so much. If only Hawke didn’t care about trying to make Fenris happy. 

No one had before, and likely no one would again. Fenris could leave - leave the city, leave the country - and things would fall back into place as they were before. Always on the run, killing stray slavers and searching with desperate and futile attempts to find his master before his master found him. Things would be so much easier then. It was a hard life, but one he was used to. But this - the kindness and humor and generosity - the emotions he had tucked away as unnecessary and inconvenient. Hawke was all of these at once and more. Dredging up pieces of Fenris’ past and trying to share some of his own contagious happiness with him. This was something he had never encountered, and it scared him.

Fenris opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them. He was still standing in the middle of the foyer, halfway to the door in escape. Something held him in place, and as hard as he tried to walk out of the house and out of Hawke’s life, he couldn’t. He couldn’t now, not anymore, and likely never could. Hawke had given him a taste, just a small taste, of something he’d never known was an option. Could he run away from that now and accept he’d never find it again? No, Fenris thought with bitter bile rising in his throat, he could not. Wherever he went, he was always a slave. Too used to depending on others, and not used enough to the kindness Hawke showed. Fenris thought with disgust that he had finally found his new master. 

After a time that seemed to stretch and break between them, Hawke raised his arm slowly, minding himself. He didn’t touch him, didn’t dare, but Fenris was standing so close just facing away. Hawke had to do something. He extended an arm with his hand open and palm up. Not a request, not a demand, just an invitation. One he was giving Fenris a chance to accept or deny. 

“You don’t have to take it,” he said. Fenris thought Hawke’s breath was too close, too warm against his neck, too loud in his ears. “But if you want, I am here. I’m sorry. I shouldn't have tried to make you stay.”

Fenris said nothing. 

“If you want to leave, I won't- I can't stop you. I can’t make you stay - I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. But I will always be here.” He spoke the last words as a whisper, as if to himself more than anyone else. And then he said them again, louder. “I will always be here.”

Fenris stared at Hawke’s eyes but didn’t move and didn’t respond. He asked himself why he was refraining from taking Hawke’s hand and had no answer. He had never wanted anything more than how much he wanted to feel his touch. Fenris was never going to act without instruction, never truly make decisions of his own without being forced into a choice. For as much of his life as he knew, he wanted to be free. But now that he was free to choose, he could not do it. Cowardice and self preservation won over his desires every time. If you don’t make choices, then things don’t change. And making the choice to accept Hawke into his life - into his mind and body and soul - wasn’t a change he thought he was ready for.

Fenris felt a question rise to the forefront of his mind, the most solid formation of words he’d been able to produce. 

“Why,” he asked. Desperately he thought to take Hawke’s hand. But he couldn’t, not right now. He turned to face him, and Hawke’s eyes met his. He paused, and then enunciated each word with slow determination. “Why do you trust me.”

Hawke stared at him, not speaking. Hawke didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even look like he was breathing. They were so close Fenris could reach out and cradle Hawke’s face - but he wouldn’t, because he was a coward who didn’t know what he wanted. 

“Why do you trust me, Hawke,” he asked again. He hadn’t been expecting a real answer, but the question needed to be said aloud nonetheless. “I do not understand you. You are so… you are accepting without hesitation. You help people with no connection to you and with no personal gain. Acts of mercy, I have seen before. Good samaritans who feel the Maker smiles upon them when they treat others with more than simple human decency. But you will not leave my side. As many reasons as I’ve given you to abandon me, as many reasons as I’ve given you to fear me or pity me or hate me. As many times as I have spat on the people you call your kin and wished them death, wishing you death in consequence. As shattered of a man as I am, you-...”

Fenris faltered when he felt he could no longer continue. What was he saying, anyway? Did he want Hawke to leave? He blanched at the thought. No, not that. Anything but that. Hawke’s hand never moved from where it was hanging between them. 

Not a request, not a demand, just an invitation. Fenris wouldn’t take it. 

“I don’t hate you,” Hawke said. His voice was quiet but full of steel. “And I don’t pity you. I know you’ve had a hard past, and you’ve reason not to trust people like me. I don’t blame you for that, not in the slightest. I don’t think less of you for your distrust in things that have done you so much wrong in the past. And the last thing I want is to be one more person who does you wrong. I haven’t been kind to you because I expect… because I expect gratification or payment. I have been kind to you because I care for you, and I fear for you. 

“You are so filled with hate, it’s eating you from the inside. I can feel it... like a small and powerful aura of your own. I can almost feel the air shift around you when you walk into a room. You are so strong and brave, but so scared of yourself that you shut everyone else out. I wish I knew how to help you; it’s not fair that you have to shoulder this on your own, this is too much for one person take take alone."

Fenris looked away, ashamed of himself. Hawke was always this blunt and forthright, but such a pure display of emotion was a lot to take in. 

“I could hurt you,” he said. “I have already, more than once. I could… dammit, Hawke, I almost killed you not just a few moments ago. What if I can’t control it? I could lose myself to my anger… it would be so easy to be blinded by wrath and…” Fenris pictured his hands blood stained as he stood over Hawke’s dead body. That was not allowed to happen. “...slay you in a infantile fit of misplaced fury. And yet you still want me at your side. I do not understand.”

Hawke exhaled, his shoulders sagging in what almost looked like relief. “Maker, Fenris,” he said. A small glimmer of humor had returned to his voice, softening his tone. “I'm not  _ afraid  _ of you. I’ve seen you come so close to the edge of control and yet come back from it all in a second. You aren’t broken. You don't give yourself enough credit.”

Hawke sensed that Fenris didn’t know what to say. On the edge of either screaming or falling into Hawke’s arms, Fenris couldn’t decide which he was closer to. He met Hawke’s eyes, those soft brown eyes that reminded Fenris so much of Hawke’s mother and sister. Leandra had given a gentle pat on the shoulder the first time they ever met. Bethany would always ask him if he was alright after every single battle or enemy they faced. Those small gestures of sentiment, something Fenris knew Hawke did all the time as well but took for granted. A smile when no one was looking, a touch on the shoulder, an encouraging word - all things Fenris had never knew he needed so badly before now. Small motivations that added up after a time to trust and protection. Fenris longed for that feeling - the way Hawke had someone who loved him and he loved in return. 

Fenris didn’t know why he was so reluctant to let his desire for happiness direct his feelings. Maybe he had been told too many times that it was selfish to want so much, and so he accepted the fact that he might be alone forever. That didn’t have to be true, did it? He certainly didn’t want it to be. Maybe not for anyone else, maybe not for another person on the planet would he have given up his restrictions - but maybe for Hawke, he might. 

Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes, Fenris lifted his arm towards where he knew Hawke’s outstretched hand lie between them. As if trying to test himself he allowed only their fingers to brush together, then he placed his palm flat against Hawke’s. Hawke smiled and hummed when Fenris’ palm touched his own, and his fingers curled around Fenris’ wrist. It was nothing like before, like the sudden gesture that had nearly driven Fenris mad with anger. It was kind, almost loving. Hawke’s skin was rough and calloused, but had a softness all its own. 

“Fenris,” he said. His voice was gentle and soothing, like a mother whispering to her child to lull them to sleep. Fenris didn’t know what that sounded like. A smile curled the edge of his mouth, a small one, but he was smiling. What a fool man. What part of this situation warranted happiness? “I would like to try again, if it’s okay with you. If I have your permission, I would like to hug you. You do look very sad, you know.”

Fenris was only half paying attention to the poor attempt at humor when he nodded. With care, Hawke let his arms fall around Fenris’ shoulders. It took a second for Fenris to unstiffen himself, but in response he tucked his arms around Hawke’s waist. He dug his fingers in the fabric of Hawke’s shirt, holding as if he feared someone might wretch them apart. Hawke was so warm, so tall and soft and complete. He was holding Fenris with such a gentle strength as if he were holding the little pieces of Fenris’ self in one place and trying to squeeze them back together. Maybe if they stood like this long enough, it would work. 

Hawke stepped back and rested against the wall, letting Fenris lean against his chest. His face was buried in Hawke’s shirt and he breathed in his scent, trying to forget anything else besides the warmth of Hawke’s skin and the touch of his hands in Fenris’ hair.

Neither of them were certain how long they stayed together, just standing in the foyer in each other's arms. Hawke was running his fingers through Fenris’ hair, and Fenris was trying not to let Hawke feel his hands shaking against Hawke’s back. Hawke spoke, bringing them both back to the present. His lips were a breath away from Fenris’ ear and he need only whisper to be heard. 

“I don’t want you to be afraid anymore,” he said. It was a simple idea of sorts, one that Fenris’ himself had many times over. The thought of not fearing someone lurking over his shoulder his entire life. But perhaps in his position, that was asking for too much. 

When Fenris replied, even the Maker himself wouldn’t have been able to tell if he was lying, or if he believed the words that rang in his ears.

“I am not.”

 


End file.
